


A Loyal Hound

by Codydarkstalker



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: BDSM, F/M, M/M, Polyamory, Power Play, Puppy Play, Threesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-08 16:33:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3215984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Codydarkstalker/pseuds/Codydarkstalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen is well trained. He knows how to obey orders, even when those orders push him to his very limits. When he joins the Inquisition, he falls into his same habits, taking orders, and when Eilonwy Trevelyan notices how obedient he is, she can't help but fall for him. But where she sees a man willing to do anything, Bull sees someone like himself, someone who needs order. Someone who needs more training.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A good dog is well trained. A good dog knows how to follow orders. A good guard dog barks on command and bites on command. Cullen Rutherford was always a good guard dog. He had guarded the mages in his circle, he had been loyal to the Templars and the Chantry. He had worked hard, and he had made sacrifices. He had made so many sacrifices, he had been left feeling less and less like a person, he had lost so much of himself. He had given up his family, and then himself, all in his dedication to becoming the ideal Templar. 

When he was young, he had looked up the Templars. They seemed bigger and better than any other man he had ever seen. They had trained themselves into something more than a normal person. Even magic could not break them. It had taken weeks of begging his parents, wearing them down, before they would consider letting him leave to begin his own training. When the Knight Commander came to his home and pleaded his case with him, it was his proudest moment. He knew, deep down, that his family had made the right choice. The day they saw him off, he had dreams of becoming the perfect knight. He had dreams of becoming a man people would look up to, that his family would be proud of.

"I want to be a Templar Daddy!" He had shouted, pointing at the men in their bright armor. "I'm going to be a knight someday!"

The reality of Templar life was different than he had imagined. The training was not just of his mind and body, but his spirit too. The endless physical training was easy enough. He was born to ride and horse and swing a sword, devoting himself to combat training was so simple. A man told him to ran, so he ran, a man shouted raise his shield higher, he did it, a man told him to fight, he fought until they told him to stop. At the end of some days he would find himself bloody, and so tired he could barely stand under the weight of his armor. But it felt right. It felt good to push his own limits. He paid his dues in sweat and blood.

The mental training was harder. The reading and writing and endless memorization did not come easy to him, but he knew how to read and write which was more than could be said for many of the other children pledged to Chantry service by their families. His mind wandered from time to time, and his lessons sometimes seemed to stretch on hours and hours in an endless wave of facts and figures.

The hardest was training his soul. He believed in the Maker. He believed in Andraste. At least, he believed in a sort of abstract way. The Chantry told him the Maker was real, and that Andraste was his bride. The Templars said it it as well. His own family had taught him this was true, and so he had accepted it the was he accepted water was wet and snow was cod and fire burned. He did not know exactly how it worked but he was comforted with the truth of it. He said he his prayers, he spoke the word and sang the chant of light when he was told to. The Chantry told him he walked in the Makers light, and so he felt the sun on his skin and he was warm. They told him that he was pure of heart and mind, and so he did not fear corruption from outside or from within. He was taught obedience to to the Templar officers and the Chantry came before everything else, so he did what he was told.

"You will be a good knight."

"You will be a good man."

When they told him to take lyrium, he did. He sat vigil, and then at the end, he got his first dose of lyrium. It made him feel powerful. It made him feel untouchable. More than the sword in his hand or the shield at his side. Taking lyrium was something his superiors ordered, the first time. After that, the lyrium issues the command, there was a pull inside of him.

When the Circles began to fall, he tried to follow the orders still coming in. He went where they made him, did what he was told. He was there till the end. When Cassandra told him to join the Inquisition, he did that. Because that was the order that seemed to make the most sense. 

“Come,” she had said. “Come and be a part of something bigger and better than yourself. Be the kind of man you wanted to be when you dreamed of being a Templar.”

And of course he had come. He knew how to follow orders. Over the years he had learned to give orders almost as well, so they put him in charge of the soldiers. Standing outside in the snow, surrounded by the clashing sounds of metal on metal, blinded by the glint of sun on steel, he had felt almost at peace. He knew what to do. He taught them how to hold a sword, he told him to keep their shields up. 

In a way, the Inquisition wasn’t unlike the Templar life he had lead. He woke up every morning and wrapped himself in armor. He trained with his fellow soldiers, some of them Templars like himself. He stopped taking the lyrium, but he still felt the command to take it, screaming in his veins. The fighting helps though, the hole in the sky is almost enough to distract him.

And then, she’s there. Eilonwy Trevelyan, the pretty little mage girl from the rich family. The first two times he sees her, she is asleep. But then she’s in the war room, dark hair shining in the candle light, and she’s the one giving him orders.

“I need you to take your forces and clear this road out near the Storm Coast. Can you do that Commander?” She’s staring at him with bright blue eyes that remind him of lyrium, and he has to swallow twice before he can answer.

“Yes, of course. I can bring a small group of warriors and have the road secured right away. The bandits in that area should be easy enough to deal with.” 

“Good.” The praise makes him smile a bit and he can only hope Leliana doesn’t notice.


	2. Chapter 2

Cullen says his prayers every night, the way the Chantry mothers taught him when he was young. He gets up early and says them again, each time kneeling at the foot of his bed, his forehead resting on his hands.

“Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.”

It’s cold in Haven, and the ground is frozen and hard. Kneeling on the ground, his knees ache, but that is somehow comforting, reminiscent of the cold stone floors he kneeled on in the Circle tower. The pain is familiar too.

When he leaves his tent, the men are already up, and most are already training. Cassandra is with them, trying her hardest to hack one of the training dummies to pieces. He makes a mental note to make sure that more are ready, she’s been going through three a week lately. The sun is shining off the frozen surface of the lake, and he squints for a moment, trying to stare down the glare. The cold air bites at his lungs, but the sensations are pleasant, a distraction for the lyrium ache in his bones. He is painfully aware of the phylter tucked into his bedroll. It would be easy to just go and get it, so easy.

A high, sharp voice cuts him from his thoughts. “Commander, a moment of your time please?” Eilonwy’s cheeks are red from the cold, and it brings out the color of her eyes.

“Yes, can I help you?” He stands up a bit straighter under the scrutiny of her gaze.

“Yes, you can.” She turns and gestures over at the group of men training in fron of the tents. “I need you to send some men into the Fallow Mire, we lost a few scouts down that way and I fear there may be some sort of enemy force there.”

He nods. It won’t be an easy task, the mire is filled with the undead according to the last report, but he is confident in his men. “Of course. I will alert you as soon as the report back. Is there anything else?”

She shakes her head and pulls her coat tighter around her shoulders before walking off. It’s clear she’s form a rich family. She has no trouble giving orders, even to a Templar. He wonders for a moment what a handful she must of been in the circle and it almost makes him smile. So many of the mages were weak, helpless, poor and scared and all alone in the world. But a few, a few are like Eilonwy and Vivienne, smart and strong and powerful, able to bend the world to their will, even from within those high stone walls. He admires it, their ability to take command so easily. Following her orders is easy, obeying her seems as natural as breathing.

As soon as she disappears from view Cullen motions for one of his soldiers, giving her the order to send a dozen men into the mire, all with mounts and ranged weapons to help protect them from the dead. Once she leaves, he spies Cassandra watching him from the corner of his eye.  
“Is there something you needed Seeker?” He raises an eyebrow.

Cassandra shrugs and takes another swipe at the training dummy in front of her. “You seem to like our Herald. I’m surprised you would get along with such a girl.”

“Because she’s a mage?” It would make sense for him to be wary of that, with his history.

“No, because she’s spoiled honestly. She’s demanding,” Cassandra laughs, and it’s clear she doesn’t entirely disapprove.

“I know how to handle demanding,” he replies smoothly.

“You know how to take orders.” She swings her sword hard one more time and the head comes off the practice dummy and rolls towards him. “Some women like that though.” If he didn’t know any better he would say she was teasing him.

The rest of the morning passes by as normal. He checks in with the blacksmith to make sure the new recruits coming in will be armed in a timely manner, and talks with the quartermaster, Threnn, about supply lines for food. They’re simple tasks but they keep him busy enough that he can’t focus on the lyrium craving, and that’s something. A small something.

The afternoon is dedicated to practicing. It sets his mind at ease, the rhythmic movement of the sword, the sound it makes when he hits the training dummy. He goes through the motions until his arms ache, and keeps going until his hands go numb from the cold.

Half past three he is summoned to the war room for a briefing. The Herald, as she is now being called by some, has marked out a number of locations in the Hinterlands for watchtowers, and they need to decide how best to go about their construction.

“We could ask the local nobles to help. Most of these lords would be happy to be of service to the refugees,” Josephine remarks.

“Or we could simply do the work ourselves,” Cullen interjects. “Our troops have a lot of men who were masons and carpenters before the war. I’m certain they would be able to build the watchtowers.”

Eilonwy pauses , hands on the table, looking carefully down at the map. “Are you certain that woud be the fastest way?”

He nods. “Yes, I’m sure the nobles could get the work done, but we have no idea how long it would take them. We could use our own resources and get it done immediately. Also, it would be good for morale. The troops like to see the work they are doing helps people.”

She nods and waves her hand at a different point on the map. “Fine. Josephine, in the meantime I would like you to make contact with some dwarven merchants in this area. We could use a better idea about lyrium supplies for the troops.”

Cullen manages to keep his face straight while they discuss the lyrium, but just barely. He busies himself with looking at the map. It’s impressive how quickly the Inquisition is spreading its influence. It’s only been a bit over a week, but they have made headway into the Hinterlands and the Stormcoast. Soon they will be able to make more powerful alliances. He is hoping they ally with the Templars. He knows, deep down, there are more like him. Good men. Good men following bad orders, but who would be as loyal to their new cause as he is.

“Commander, a moment please.”

He snaps his eyes up and see the other advisors are filing out of the room, and Eilonwy is waiting for him at the door. “Yes?”

“I have to go to the Stormcoast tomorrow to meet some new recruits. Can you alert the blacksmith that we will need more weapons and armor for the company, and make sure there’s room for them to set up camp?” She turns and begins walking through the door. “I’m sure you can handle it right? Good.”

She’s gone before he can answer, and he’s left standing alone in the war room. It will take a few hours to make the needed preparations for the watch towers, and he now has to ready the camp. It’s a lot of work, but he’s happy to know he’s been trusted with these tasks. It’s good to be busy. If he’s lucky, it will take till nightfall, and he won’t have any time alone with his thoughts until he beds down. The more he works, the less he dreams, and that at least, is something.


	3. Chapter 3

The Chargers, Cullen decides, are good people. They’re a bit odd, but good fighters, and they are clearly loyal to the Iron Bull. It reminds Cullen a bit of what it felt like to be a Templar, years and years ago. The sense of purpose, of camaraderie he once had. It is good to be able to do a job, and do it well, and know it is a job worth doing. There were times he felt like that as a Templar, but as the years went on they were fewer and farther between. It is a feeling he is slowly getting back now. 

The Inquisition is the great uniter. It brings so many people together and it gives them hope, and it gives them safety, but more importantly, he personally thinks, it gives them purpose. A single man could never hope to end the rebellion or bring peace to Thedas. But a single man could join the Inquisition, and have a sword or a shovel or a hammer put into his hand and know he was doing good. All a person had to do was show up and follow orders. The simplicity was beautiful.

Bull, Cullen notes with some approval, seems to deeply understand this. When the Qunari first showed up at camp, there was some worry the band would be trouble makers. But really, Bull is better behaved than most, certainly better behaved than Sera. He kept his people in line, and he did what was needed. Most importantly, he did what he was told. For all his loudness and startling appearance, he is as well trained and obedient as any Templar. Cullen can see a bit of himself in Bull that way. 

“The Qun demands obedience,” Bull explains one day, siping at a tankard of ale in the tavern. The Chargers are up near the bar, flirting with the barmaid and drinking their body weight in beer, but Bull has pulled aside a small table for himself and invited the commander to sit with him and drink. 

“Well, so does the Chantry,” Cullen replies. “We have rules like any religion does. Thing we must do to prove our faith and follow the path of the Maker.”

Bull shakes his head and takes a large gulp of ale, wiping the foam from his lips with his thumb. “No, it’s different with the Qun. Under the Qun, everyone is trained for their job like a soldier is trained. From birth, we are molded to fit a specific task. How old were you when you began training as a Templar?”

“I was about twelve when I left home, but some were promised to the order much younger than that.”

“Yes, but most children don’t start so young.” He paused and took another long drink. “But the Qun, the Qun dictates everything. It makes the world make sense. Everyone has a place and purpose.”

Cullen thought for a moment. “I like the sound of that. I was always good at taking orders you know.” He smiled, a bit too wide, and it did not reach his eyes. “I guess the trouble is getting the right orders.”

Bull nodded slowly, and slowly reached across the table, putting his hand on the smaller mans arm, squeezing gently. “I know what you mean.” He pulled back and looked around the tavern with a small smile. “You know, I haven’t worried about that much since I got here. The chief is good, ya know? I don’t mean a good Andrastian, but just...good. Working for her, I haven't had to worry about what she does with me or my boys.”

“I know the feeling. She’s a good leader.”

Bull shook his head. “It’s more than that. She’s a good leader, yeah, but she’s a good person. That counts for something. Counts for a lot actually, especially nowadays when it seems like every asshole is out there scheming and trying to power grab whenever they can.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t the Qunari trying to conquer the world?”

Bull grimaced. “I suppose they are. They think they’re doing the right thing, but I guess everyone thinks that at least a little bit. That’s the thing about being a tool, you don’t get much control over how you’re used, you need to make sure you trust whoever’s in charge.”

“I trust Eilonwy.” the words were out of his mouth before he could think, and Cullen felt a slight blush creep across his face. It felt a bit too intimate, saying it aloud, calling her by her first name. “I trust the Herald,” he corrected himself. “I trust the orders she gives me.”

“It’s easy when the orders are ones you agree with. You should see how much you like taking her orders when the choices start getting harder. You can agree with her now because she agreed with you, she chose to seek out an alliance with the Templars. It might not always be that easy.” Bull took a long drink from his tankard and set it down hard on the table, empty. “The more you obey, the more she might ask from you.”

Cullen glanced out the window, it was snowing, as usual, and the setting sun reflected off the snow and cast all of Haven in a soft orange glow. A few tables away the tavern singer began to pick at her lute, the beginning to Enchanter, a favorite of the Herald. 

“I don’t think there’s an order she could give that I would not be happy to follow.” 

Bull stood up and stretched, his hands reaching up as though they might brush the ceiling. “I should tell her you said that.” He grinned down at the blond. “I bet she would be pleased to hear it.” He signaled to his company, who were all surrounded by empty bottles. “Have a good night Commander.” He waved over his shoulder as he exited the tavern, a drunken elf balanced on each shoulder.  
Cullen watched them leave, and then turned his eyes back to the window. The sun had gone down, and the stars were coming out. As he finished his drink he thought he saw a shooting star streak across the inky blackness.

**Author's Note:**

> I got a bit obsessed with this three way pairing after my last fic, and wanted to try something a bit more involved. I hope everyone enjoys this story, more to come soon.


End file.
